


Never Again

by 16woodsequ



Series: Never Again Forever [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Extermination Camps, Hurt/Comfort, Nazis, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, The Avengers Are Good Bros, WW2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-28 03:22:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18202832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/16woodsequ/pseuds/16woodsequ
Summary: They're walking by an alleyway when he sees it.It's a rushed job, hastily and crookedly scrawled in thin black spray paint on the brick wall of the alley and the sight of it makes Steve's blood freeze as he stops dead in his tracks.A swastika.





	Never Again

 

The 21st century is as horrifying as it is beautiful.

And it _is_ beautiful.

Steve tries to remind himself of that fact every time he comes across some new atrocity or a 40s problem that somehow _still_ hasn’t been resolved.

The other Avengers help.

After the battle of New York, everyone had split off and Steve had resigned himself to living in a SHIELD issued apartment and maintaining a strictly business relationship with the team of superheroes.

And then Tony had stepped in.

“I’ve got the whole place set up.” Tony had told him over the phone. “Rooms for everyone, a gym, the works.”

“I don’t know.” Steve had replied. “SHIELD wants me to move to D.C. They want me closer to headquarters.”

Tony had made an unimpressed noise and Steve could almost imagine his flippant hand wave over the phone.  

“Who cares about that?” Tony had demanded. “Nick wants us to be a team right? Well, _I_ say in order to be a team we need to work together, and the best way to do that is by living together in New York.”

A dozen protests had popped into Steve’s head but he’d shoved them aside. Tony wasn’t wrong, living together or at least living near each other would help the Avengers mesh as a team…

Steve had looked around his SHIELD apartment, his eyes glancing over the extra cups and dishes that he’d never used, the plain white walls holding nothing but photos from the past, the empty bookshelves…

“Okay.” He’d said. “I’ll come.”

 

oOo

 

Sometimes Steve wonders who was more surprised, Tony or himself, when Steve and everyone else, had agreed to come live at the tower.

Regardless, Steve doesn’t regret his decision.

Especially on days like today.

 

Today Steve is on a walk.

Actually, Natasha had marched into Steve’s room to informed him that he needed to see more of New York than just the Stark Tower and had proceeded herd him outside for what she called ‘a guided tour of modern culture’.

So far, it is going well. The outside world isn’t so intimidating when he has someone by his side who can _explain_ everything, as well as point out inconsequential things such as Clint’s favorite ice cream parlour or a hospital that Tony had visited.   

They’re walking by an alleyway when he sees it.

It’s a rushed job, hastily and crookedly scrawled in thin black spray paint on the brick wall of the alley and the sight of it makes Steve’s blood freeze as he stops dead in his tracks.

A swastika.

Steve’s stomach flips and there’s a rushing in his ears as he takes a step towards it. _Not here._ He thinks. _Please not here, not now, not again._

A shaking hand comes up and traces the symbol in horror as fragmented memories of red and black flash before his eyes.

_Never again. Never again never again neveragain—_

“Steve.”

He blinks and Natasha is beside him, her hand resting on his arm.

“We need to get rid of it.” He rasps, his eyes burning. “We need…”

“Yes.” Natasha says determinedly. “I’ve called Tony, he’s sending something now.”

True to her word, a small black car soon pulls up next to them. As they pull out cleaning supplies from the backseat Steve has the presence of mind to be grateful that they’re on a relatively quiet street, free from any prying eyes or recording devices.

Natasha hands him a pair of gloves and then a spray bottle and rag.

Steve grits his teeth and he can feel his hands shaking with rage as he turns to the wall and sprays it with a vengeance. He hands the bottle to Natasha before he begins to scrub at the symbol.

Natasha stands silently, seeming to understand that this is something that Steve _needs to do_.

 

“Did you know we liberated one of their camps?” He spits, breaking the silence.

“Yes.” She responds softly.

“We’d– we’d heard rumors, but we didn’t _know_ , we didn’t know what we were gonna see.” Steve continues, never taking his eyes off the wall.

“We got there and they–” He breaths roughly. “They were walking skeletons.” He drags the rag roughly over the wall.

“And the air–” Steve swallows, pressing his lips together. “The air… the air was wrong – there was this, this _smell_ –” His voice breaks.

“And we found out, we found out they were- were _burning_ the bodies.” Bile rises in his throat and he gags, his vision blurring. “They were burning them and we were breathing it in–”

He stops scrubbing and breaths for a second, his heart pounding. “I’ll never forget the smell of death in that place.” Steve says quietly, taking the spray bottle back from Natasha to spray the wall again.

“And I thought, I thought ‘we can’t keep doing this’. We can’t have a war every 20 years– we can’t _forget_ , never again, _never again._ ”  

Steve’s rag is grey and the wall is nearly clear, he takes the spray bottle for a final spray.

“And then,” Steve’s voice falls into something dark and bitter. “And then I wake up 70 years in the future, they tell me we won, and _there’s_ _still bloody Nazis._ ”

Steve steps back, the wall is clear but he isn’t finished (bless Natasha because she seems to _know_ ).

“This,” he gestures to the wall, his voice hard and brittle. “This is disgusting. People think – people _don’t_ think. They paint this here because it’s _edgy_ or rebellious or funny and they don’t think – they refuse to understand what this _means_ –”

Steve shudders, his hand clenched around his rag. “Or,” his breath catches and his eyes are burning again. “Or they agree. They think this was _right_ , six _million_ people–”

Natasha’s arms are around him and Steve’s eyes are decidedly wet.

“I know Steve.” She says gently. “I’m sorry.”

“It was 70 years ago.” Steve says brokenly. “Seventy years for everyone else, but it was only a month ago for me. Only a month and I–” His throat feels tight and Steve curls into Natasha clenching his teeth against a sob.

“Let’s go back.” Natasha says softly, pulling the rag from Steve’s hand before guiding him towards the curb where Tony’s car had waited.

 

The trip back is mostly a blurry memory for Steve; he spends most of it blinking away tears and images of living skeletons.

They leave the cleaning supplies in the car and Steve follows numbly as Natasha pulls him gently from the vehicle.

He’s shaking as she guides him to the couch in the common room and her hands are cool against his neck as she drapes a blanket around his shoulders.

The smell of something sweet reaches his nose and Steve looks up to see Bruce standing next him with a mug of hot chocolate. Bruce holds it out to him and Steve’s hands are at least steady enough to grab the beverage.

“Thanks.” Steve rasps as he tries to blink things back into focus.

Bruce smiles at him and sits in a nearby chair. The couch next to Steve dips and he looks over to see Natasha curled up by the arm.

Bruce pulls out a book and Steve hears the elevator doors open as Tony walks in, his eyes focused on a tablet.

Tony drifts around the kitchen before lounging in a nearby chair in a way that _almost_ makes it seem like a coincidence that he is for one, out of his lab, and two, noticeably lacking in his usually banter.

Steve takes a sip of his hot chocolate and he hears the elevator open for a second time. Clint makes no pretenses as he comes over, the archer immediately claiming the spot on the floor next to Steve before leaning his body into Steve’s leg.

Clint pulls out his phone and Steve looks around the room, his eyes resting on his friends who, for all intents and purposes, seem completely content to sit quietly next to Steve for the rest of the afternoon.

 _Yes._ Steve thinks as he takes another drink from his mug and his shaking begins to calm. _The future can be horrifying._

 _But maybe, with these people, I can make it better._  

 

**Author's Note:**

> This nearly made me cry writing it.  
> I think that while we know and hate what Nazis did, we've become a little numb to it as well. We've had 70 years to adjust, but Steve hasn't.


End file.
